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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962069">Mary's Son</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNiftyNarwhal/pseuds/TheNiftyNarwhal'>TheNiftyNarwhal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Author Is Sleep Deprived, Caring John, Caring John Winchester, Crying, Crying Dean Winchester, Dead Mary Winchester, Dean Winchester Deserves Better, Dean Winchester Deserves Nice Things, Dean Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Dean Winchester Loves the Winchester Family, Dean Winchester Needs Therapy, Dean Winchester Needs a Break, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester is Loved, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Dean Winchester's Terrible Life, Family Feels, Good Parent John Winchester, Men Crying, Other, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective John Winchester, Sad Dean Winchester, Winchester Family Fluff (Supernatural), Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:34:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,279</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962069</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNiftyNarwhal/pseuds/TheNiftyNarwhal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of fluffy, angsty one shots where Dean needs his father and John actually, kinda, is there.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; John Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this half asleep, and sick, so, no promises, I just started thinking and, this came from it. If you see a mistake, lmk and I'll edit it. <br/>I'd love to hear feedback, and I'm fairly new to the fandom so beware that everything may not be accurate. <br/>Loads of love and I hope somebody enjoys♡</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"D-Dad-"</p><p>John Winchester stirs beneath the scratchy hotel comforter.</p><p>His eyes peek open and meet the dim room, lit only by a lonely yellow lamp outside the cheap establishment's window. An ill sounding car putters by in the parking lot.</p><p>"Sammy, no, Dad-"</p><p>Rubbing the sleep from his weary eyes, John turns over on his side towards the despairing voice panting in the twin bed across from his.</p><p>A raspy cry breaks free of his younger roommate and he tosses the blanket aside to sit up on the edge of the lumpy mattress. The chilly air conditioner raises goosebumps on his bare legs, him having been wearing nothing but a tshirt and boxers to sleep in.</p><p>Most of his attention is on the distressed sounds of his fellow hunter and son, Dean, who flips on his side abruptly and whimpers at something in his dreams.</p><p>Quickly crossing the distance between the beds, he kneels on one knee beside the low-set bedframe and touches the twenty-one year old's trembling arm lightly.</p><p>"Dean?"</p><p>There's no response, just a muffled sob into his pillow as the strawberry blonde anxiously grabs at the blade he perpetually keeps beneath his head.</p><p>John's eyebrows furrow and he moves to the edge of Dean's bed, scooting his legs over gingerly and reaching for his son's shoulder to shake him awake.</p><p>"Dad-Dad--"</p><p>"I'm here, son, I'm here," he coos, in a tone long estranged to his vocal chords, one that had laid dormant since his boys were little.</p><p>Dean's cries slow as John wakes him gently and his breathing evens out as chatoyant green eyes burst open and fall on the older man beside him.</p><p>"Dad?" Dean inquires groggily, sniffling subtly and swiping a calloused hand beneath his runny nose as he moves to look up at his father.</p><p>John smiles at the innocence of his normally arrogant boy and pats his knee lightly over the covers,"Yeah, it's me, boy."</p><p>"Did I wake you up?" the freckled man asks, embarassment apparent in his rumbly voice,"I'm sorry, I was having a hell of a dream."</p><p>"It's okay, son," John assures him, massaging his kneecap in a sort of grounding way,"Happens to the best of us. You alright?"</p><p>He's never been very good at being emotional, but Dean had a delicate quality about himself that made it rather hard to remain brusque or stoic with when he was so upset. Not that he'd ever be so stupid as to say this to the man, as he can imagine Dean would find it emasculating.</p><p>It isn't, of course, but his son is a puzzle of hotheaded randomness that no man can figure out some days.</p><p>Dean worries his bottom lip with his top two teeth, glancing away from his dad and towards his feet peeping out from the bottom of the blanket.</p><p>John can tell he wants to talk, but that he's humiliated and much too prideful to do so willingly.</p><p>"Scoot over," he orders gruffly, ripping Dean from his idle staring as he hastens to obey.</p><p>Even having been legally not obliged to do so for nigh on four years, Dean is always quick to do as commanded. That is, by John.</p><p>Heaven help the soul that tried to make him listen save for his father and, maybe, occasionally, Bobby.</p><p>Dean sets himself upright against the headboard and John moves beside him, wrapping an arm around his lean shoulders and pulling him into his chest as if he's very small.</p><p>"Dad, no, I'm-" he starts to protest, at first, never one to give in to the soft little whisper inside his head that does, so very much, want to be held and cuddled close.</p><p>"Hush, now," John halts him, loosening his grip slightly but still keeping Dean close in a fatherly display of affection,"It's hard to be alone after those sorts of things, I know."</p><p>Dean blinks away a few tears swelling at his waterline and relaxes against John, leaning into his shoulder and exhaling shakily.</p><p>"You need to talk, son?" John asks softly, it's not a question he makes a habit of using often, but it feels right to ask it now.</p><p>Dean quirks his plump lips downwards and sniffs,"You and Sam died."</p><p>It's all he says before he silences again and glares menacingly at his sock covered feet.</p><p>John's had his own fair share of nightmares in the past, and can relate well to his son's plight. He squeezes the young man's shoulder and leans his head against his fluffy bedhead.</p><p>"I'm here with you and Sammy's off at school, nobody's dead just yet," he offers softly and respectfully ignores the stifled sob that escapes Dean's tightly pinched lips.</p><p>Dean squeezes his eyes closed and takes a wobbly inhale, "Yeah, it was just a hell of a dream."</p><p>He runs a hand down his face and tries to calm himself,"Son of a bitch."</p><p>John leans back and holds him with both arms now instead of one,"You can go back to sleep now, son, nothing's happening tonight."</p><p>Dean's too tired and emotionally exhausted to argue, so he leans against his father, who smells perpetually of cheap cologne and Dial.</p><p>A few minutes later, the tension in his body gives out and John chances a smile at the way he's holding his oldest as if he were a tot again.</p><p>He leans over Dean's slumbering form and, uncharacteristically, presses a warm kiss to his speckled cheek.</p><p>There's something that he'll never understand about this boy and the way he brings out the best in him. Perhaps, it's because Dean is every inch the picture of Mary's son, and, in his eyes, is beautiful reminder of what was almost his seventeen and a half years before his world burned in Sammy's nursery.</p><p>John strokes a wayward blonde lock from his oldest's brow and let's his eyes get misty as his heart tugs painfully. He wishes with all of it that he were comforting Dean over a bad breakup or losing a college scholarship, but he's not.</p><p>Instead, his precious boy, who would give up his very life for him, and, in fact, <em>had,</em> was forced to live in fear of losing the only two people in the world that he truly cared anything about.</p><p>He can imagine what an amazing man Dean would be if he wasn't a hunter. Sammy wants to be a lawyer, and John's immensely proud of his younger son for his efforts to be normal. If Dean had chosen the normal path, he can imagine that his oldest would be an engineer, architect or some other respectable occupation that he'd be bursting with pride to tell him all about.</p><p>He maneuvers the brawny six foot one boy so his head is atop a pillow in John's lap. It's rather awkward, he supposes, but, he thinks they could both stand the closeness.</p><p>He watches him sleep; his beautiful firstborn with the forest green eyes that make women melt, and the freckles that offer the boyish charm that made older women and, people, in general, treat him as if he were much younger and more fragile than he actually was.</p><p>His blonde hair gleams in the yellow lamplight seeping through the rectangular glass window onto the bed.</p><p>John let's a lone, regretful tear slide down his scruffy cheek as he strokes Dean's tshirt covered back.</p><p>His eyes dart towards the ceiling and he bites his lower lip in the same fashion as his son had a bit earlier. It's as if he's looking to Mary and wishing her to bring him some comfort now, but he knows she can't and he blinks rapidly to avoid crying over that.</p><p>Instead, he looks at her son, and finds comfort in him and his undying loyalty.</p><p>John leans backwards against a pillow and continues to massage his boy's spine absently.</p><p>"Dad's here," he whispers, looking at Dean wistfully and hoping that the reassurance means as much to the younger man as it does to himself. <br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Daddy's Brave Boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>John's only halfway in.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one got away from me a little. I apologize if it's bad, I'm sick and haven't slept in 53 hours now. Insomnia is not kind. I hope it's somewhat enjoyable and would love to hear feedback. It's unedited but I will return to correct any mistakes I can find. I hope you're all well and I love you all loads♡</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>John wipes his hands on the hand towel in the bathroom and sighs, glancing wearily into the vanity mirror, chipped in one corner.</p><p>It's been a long, hard day, and he's far from impressed with his work; having had to put down a demon that had been possessing a twelve year old girl. The girl hadn't survived the exorcism and John had not enjoyed the pained look in his fourteen year old's eyes as they'd buried her stiff and used body.</p><p>"<em>It had to be done, son," John had stated regretfully, and Dean had nodded silently. </em></p><p>
  <em>He'd picked up their tools like the dutiful little soldier he was, and climbed </em>
  <em>back</em>
  <em> into the Impala without a word. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Having been </em>
  <em>travelling</em>a is
  <em> with his Dad off </em>
  <em>and</em>
  <em> on for a year now, it wasn't the first time Dean had witnessed an exorcism. However, this was, by far, </em>
  <em>the</em>
  <em> youngest casualty they'd had during his stint with them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bobby had stood outside the Impala </em>
  <em>with</em>
  <em> him, hand propped on the cool metal trunk, John having just closed it, and sighed.</em>
</p><p><em>"Hey, maybe, take the kid for an ice cream or somethin'?" he'd suggested softly, casting a glance at the strawberry-tinged blonde in the passenger seat with his head leaned </em><em>against</em> <em>the</em><em> window woefully. </em></p><p>
  <em>John had nodded quietly,"He'll be alright."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"He's </em>
  <em>too</em>
  <em> young to be out </em>
  <em>doing</em>
  <em> these kinds </em>
  <em>of</em>
  <em> things, John," Bobby had remarked, giving his best friend a reproachfully pointed glare,"He ought </em>
  <em>not</em>
  <em> have to see somethin' like that."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>John knew he was right, but </em>
  <em>refused</em>
  <em> to admit it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"He's fine, Bobby," he'd snapped, stiffening defensively,"He needs to be prepared for these situations, and, anyways, he likes being out better than being stuck at home </em>
  <em>with</em>
  <em> Sammy."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bobby backed down quickly, hands </em>
  <em>raised</em>
  <em> in surrender,"Alright, alright, alright, don't get your </em>
  <em>feathers</em>
  <em> into a frenzy, </em>
  <em>ya</em>
  <em> idjit. "</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"</em>
  <em>I'll</em>
  <em> see you," John had sighed, shaking Bobby's hand and </em>
  <em>leaning</em>
  <em> in for an </em>
  <em>awkwardly</em>
  <em> quick embrace. </em>
</p><p>The other man returned the hug and sighed, looking at Dean sadly for a long pause.</p><p>
  <em>He snapped out of his thoughts and nodded jauntily,"Just take care of him, ya idjit, he's only a kid, even if he's a tough one."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>John gave him an disinterested look and sauntered away, slamming the car door open and close quickly as he settled in beside his slightly </em>
  <em>shaken</em>
  <em> son.</em>
</p><p>Now, the boy is outside the bathroom on the dingy queen mattress, them having been unable to get a room with two twins. In the morning, Dean's meant to go home, him having only come with John since Sammy had gone to a sleepover for the weekend.</p><p>John pensively opens the door and sees his son sitting on the edge of the bed, a pillow doubled over in his arms and his chin resting atop of it whilst he stares at the TV screen. There's none of the usual joy that he normally sees when Dean watches Scooby Doo, though.</p><p>He's apathetic and unfocused, eyes gazing dully at the program full of false monsters, having spent the day with so many real ones. John would argue that he, himself, was one, in his son's eyes, just then.</p><p>He swings the door wide open and joins the kid in the hotel room,"Dean, I'm gonna hit the Seven-Eleven down the road, okay?"</p><p>The announcement is unexpected and shocks the boy from his melancholy abyss as he looks mournfully at his father.</p><p>"I could go with you, Dad-"</p><p>John cuts him off,"No, you stay here and rest, it's all salted and there's iron everywhere, you'll be safe."</p><p>Dean's lip juts out involuntarily, but he nods obediently, settling back into position hesitantly as his father slips his arms through the sleeves of his ratty brown coat.</p><p>He turns away from John, making sure he can't see his face. He's not certain if he's crying or not, yet, but he feels like it, and he doesn't like it when Dad sees him being a baby.</p><p>Dean was his big boy, and he was trying desperately to prove he was man enough to go on missions with him, all the time.</p><p>His conscience stabs at his mind with angry disapproval as he does so, but John diligently ignores his son's obvious distress as he pops each boot on and prepares to leave.</p><p>A few moments later, the motel room's  door slams closed and Dean is left alone in the abruptly brisk atmosphere.</p><p>He shuts off the television set in slight bitterness, secretly pitying himself since he's been hoping to have his Dad to himself for the rest of the evening. Despite having reservations, since he's rather unsettled by his father's brusque demeanor in burying the girl whose death he'd caused.</p><p>Dean let's a tear fall at that, there's nobody to see it, anyways, so he thinks it's alright.</p><p>He wonders what the girl was like when she was alive. She was a pretty brunette, so, he's sure that she must have gotten a lot of attention in school. If she'd have been in his class he <em>definitely </em>would have invited her out someplace.</p><p>He whimpers and, for a brief moment, let's his guard down, letting his face crumple and his shoulders slump as he breaks down completely.</p><p>He only releases on absolutely deafening sob that doesn't even <em>begin </em>to express the tumultuous storm inside him right then. It's just the tip of the iceberg of the ache that Dean feels at the idea that that girl's family's probably looking for her tonight.</p><p>He wonders if she has a big brother that's panicking about her safety the same way he would if something like this had happened to Sammy and he didn't know.</p><p>Throwing himself backwards on the bed atop the covers, he buries his face into the pillow betwixt his arms and tries to relieve himself of the enormous weight in his chest.</p><p>He feels like somebody's made him swallow an entire bag of quick dry cement and it's dried in his lungs, rendering them useless and, thus, offering him no relief from this hazy, drowning feeling.</p><p>His cries are muffled but they're noisy in the otherwise silent hotel room, and, he's never felt so happy to hear two drunks outside fighting. It helps not to have to hear himself.</p><p>He falls asleep, still weeping, his heart throbbing and stomach churning ./p&gt;

</p><p>He dreams of a day long ago when his Daddy had gone on a trip and left him with Mommy and Sammy.</p><p>In the privacy of his own mind, Dean still refers to his parents by their infantile titles. It soothes him, in some abstract way, since, when Dad had been "Daddy", the world had been safe and sound.</p><p>He'd never had to know how to kill a ghost, behead a vampire or exorcise a demon, then.</p><p>Mommy, well, the last time Dean had seen her, she'd been "Mommy" so, in his head, she'll always be that.</p><p>
  <em>Sammy was laying down for his afternoon nap, he was only a couple months old.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean had been so proud </em>
  <em>because</em>
  <em> he was a whole four years old and he'd outgrown naps. He'd sung Mommy's song to Sammy when he started to cry in his </em>
  <em>crib</em>
  <em> and got the baby to go back to sleep all by himself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Chest </em>
  <em>puffed</em>
  <em> out in accomplishment, he'd marched into the </em>
  <em>kitchen</em>
  <em> where Mommy was on the phone talking and wrapped his arms around her skirts happily.</em>
</p><p><em>Closing his eyes happily and sticking two fingers </em><em>absently</em><em> into his mouth, </em><em>he'd</em><em> clung to her legs until she hung up. </em><em>Two</em><em> minutes later, she'd lifted him into her arms so he was </em><em>straddling</em> <em>her</em><em> waist </em><em>with</em> <em>his</em><em> chubby thighs.</em></p><p>
  <em>"How are you, my </em>
  <em>little</em>
  <em> angel?!" she'd cooed, and Dean had giggled as she danced her </em>
  <em>slender</em>
  <em> fingers lightly across his tummy where his shirt had rutted up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I putsted Sammy backs asleep fowe ya, Mommy!" he'd declared </em>
  <em>excitedly</em>
  <em>, grasping at the shoulders of her blouse for emphasis.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She'd grinned her beautiful, "Mommy" smile and settled him on her hip for a trek up the stairs to check on baby Sammy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>After </em>
  <em>affirming</em>
  <em> that Sammy was snoozing happily in his cradle, Mommy </em>
  <em>had</em>
  <em> brought him back to the kitchen. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I think, that such a good big brother deserves a slice of Mommy's apple pie, what do you think!?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean's eyes had grown round as baseballs,"Yes, yes, yes, awe da yesses, Mommy!"</em>
</p><p><em>Mary sat the little boy down at the table and dished him up a hefty slice of </em><em>his</em> <em>favorite</em><em> treat on her pretty blue and white </em><em>flower</em><em> dishes. </em></p><p>
  <em>Pecking him on his plump cheek, she'd watched him fondly as he </em>
  <em>gobbled</em>
  <em> the sugary delight down. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>A bit later, he was so full from the pie and </em>
  <em>growing</em>
  <em> sleepier by the moment. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Mommy had picked him up and let him rest his tired head on her shoulder, shushing him as he </em>
  <em>yawned</em>
  <em>. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Maybe </em>
  <em>big</em>
  <em> brothers </em>
  <em>need</em>
  <em> naps, too?" she'd asked softly, patting </em>
  <em>his</em>
  <em> back and swaying side to side.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Before</em>
  <em> he could answer, Daddy had come </em>
  <em>tramping</em>
  <em> in from work and had held out his arms </em>
  <em>for</em>
  <em> him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Is that my Deano!?" he'd exclaimed, and, sleepy as he was, Dean had lunged towards him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Dadddy!" he'd squealed, and John had snuggled his little son to his chest, sweaty and work worn, </em>
  <em>though</em>
  <em> he was.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"There's my partner in crime," he'd muttered sweetly, lips pressed </em>
  <em>against</em>
  <em> the boy's messy hair in a kiss.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Daddy," he'd mumbled one more time before slipping into </em>
  <em>slumber</em>
  <em> as Mommy gave Daddy a slice of pie for himself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Resting</em>
  <em> between Daddy's chest </em>
  <em>and</em>
  <em> the wooden </em>
  <em>kitchen</em>
  <em> table where he was sat, Dean had plunged </em>
  <em>into</em>
  <em> a late naptime that day. </em>
</p><p>"Daddy," Dean whispers subconsciously, beginning to wake as he hears somebody bustling around the room.</p><p>Eyes swollen from all the tears, he blinked sorely and sits up to see John turned towards him at the mention of the long forgotten name.</p><p>His cheeks burn fiery hot as he realizes what a pathetic sight he must look and he hastily swipes at his eyes and face to attempt to rid himself of any traces of his crying.</p><p>John is a kind man, though, and is empathetic enough to know that if the roles were reversed, he'd want Dean to pretend like nothing had happened.</p><p>He reaches into the bag of goods from the gas station and pulls out a pint of Ben &amp; Jerry's ice cream. Tossing the cold confection to his squirming son, he smiles warmer than he knew he could manage.</p><p>"Think Scooby's still on?"</p><p>He tears open a box of plastic silverware and retrieves a disposable spoon. Handing it to Dean and opening a beer, he plops down onto the bed beside his stunned son.</p><p>Dean's flabbergasted by the sudden turn of events and John smiles, because it's not too often he gets to see his boy surprised at something as pleasant as a night in with Dad, TV, and snacks.</p><p>Dean picks up the ice cream slowly and pops the lid, taking a bite and savoring the icy sweetness while John  flips the set on to find that Scooby is, in fact, still playing.</p><p>"Th-thanks, Dad," Dean abruptly breaks the serenity of the moment, the both of them basking in the rare normality of them watching cartoons together.</p><p>John looks away from the screen, giving his bedraggled son a quick once over,"You deserve it, son."</p><p>Dean's eyes dart to the cheap carpeted floor,"I got scared, Dad, I was scared the whole day. I don't deserve nothin'."</p><p>After making that confession, the ice cream loses some of it's deliciousness and Dean's lips form a mournful pout as he glares into the cardboard pint.</p><p>John reaches for his son's chin and pulls his face upwards till their eyes meet,"Don't you let anybody tell you they're scared of nothing's, because that's a damn lie, boy. I'm proud of you for doing the job even when you were scared. That makes you brave. You're one of the bravest people I know, Dean."</p><p>It feels awkward for John to be all deep like that, and, he's afraid he's said something wrong, at first, when Dean stares blankly at him for a few seconds after, processing. </p><p>Then, though, those eyes light up like Christmas tree lightbulbs and Dean's cheeks dimple in a zillion megawatt grin that illuminates John's whole world.</p><p>"Thanks, Dad, I kinda think you are, too," he remarks bashfully, clearing his throat and focusing on his ice cream once more, his chest swelling that his Dad thought so highly of him, for once.</p><p>He scoots back against the headboard and they return to watching Scooby together.</p><p>John chances a brief look at his face, and smiles sadly to himself because there's a good chance he won't see that face for a long time again once he leaves him at home tomorrow.</p><p>He does his best to commit every detail to memory, he's got pictures of both boys and Mary that he drags everywhere, anyways. This, though, this rare moment of his son being happy because of <em>him</em> is so surreal that it could never be captured well enough on film.</p><p>This is one of those things that's so precious because it will live forever in <em>his</em> head alone.</p><p>He squeezes Dean's shoulder through his flannel pajamas and his son glances his way questioningly.</p><p>He doesn't say anything, just gets up and flips the lamps off in the room, leaving the TV on.</p><p>"Night, boy," he announces, not really planning on sleeping but finding it suddenly important to say it just in case he falls asleep before Dean does and forgets, otherwise.</p><p>Dean scoots a half inch closer to his side under the comforter,"G'night, Dad."</p><p>In the end, Dean falls asleep first and John doesn't sleep at all. He picks up Dean's trash once he falls asleep, removing the spoon from his clenched hand. Then, he helps the kid slide down so he's resting on his back instead of upright with his chin lolling onto his chest like a nodding off old man.</p><p>Once he's certain the boy's settled soundly, he begins packing everything up early.  He feels a new sense of urgency, that he can't explain, to have Dean home and to be away from him.</p><p>So, he loads everything of theirs, which isn't much, into the Impala before two in the morning. He helps his son out of bed and with one arm around his stumbling form, assists the half-asleep Dean into the passenger seat.</p><p>They drive the four hours home with Dean waking only when the sun rises very close to their arrival in their driveway.</p><p>Sammy won't be home until later when Dean brings him home from school, since he'll ride to class with his friends.</p><p>Dean's still excited from the trip, high on something that he can't explain, can't put into words. For the first time, he's almost positive that he's done something right.</p><p>He's making his Dad proud.</p><p>"I can make you breakfast, if you'd like," he offers, backpack slung over his shoulder as he spins around on the porch to look back at his Dad, who hasn't followed.</p><p>He's extremely hopeful, if he's being honest.</p><p>He hates that he is, too.</p><p>In hindsight, it wouldn't have hurt so much, probably, when his father shook his head briskly and reached into his pocket.</p><p>He opens his wallet and pulls out a wad of cash for the boys' groceries and needs. He walks up two steps behind Dean and extends an arm. The boy shakily offers his hand out knowingly and accepts the money.</p><p>"Do you have to go so soon?" Dean asks in a small voice, and John turns quickly away.</p><p>He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders and turns to face his son, giving him a tight smile.</p><p>"Monsters ain't gonna hunt themselves, boy," John retorts lamely.</p><p>Like the necklace from around Rose's hand in Titanic; Dean's sweet, innocent expression falls and lands somewhere heavily beneath John's feet. It kicks up a cloud of guilt in it's wake, but John pushes onwards diligently.</p><p>"Keep fighting on the homefront, son," he encourages weakly, ignoring the way Dean's eyes are filling and his lips are wobbling, nose and cheeks blushing heavily with impending emotion,"Keep up that brave face, little man."</p><p>With that, he promptly takes a seat and starts the car.</p><p>Dean just stands there, fingers curled around the wad of cash. He can't move, can't speak, feels that weird sensation in his stomach that he always gets. This one, though, he has a name for.</p><p>It's loneliness, and the want to be enough for the one person he's ever desired to be enough for.</p><p>The impala zooms out of the driveway and the breeze blows winsomely.</p><p>John speeds away and Dean fights the urge to vomit. There's no looking back on John's end.</p><p>Dean feels like someone's drained him of all his strength and he has to drag himself inside to finally crumple on the sofa and cry tears from his already raw eyes.</p><p>He clutches the money close to his heart and screams violently, trying to express all the anger, frustration,  malice, disappointment, and grief he feels threatening to strangle him.</p><p>He keeps wailing until his throat feels like a cat's dragged it's claws down the inside of it, then everything falls quiet and Dean lays brokenly on their dusty sofa, trying to convince his heart to beat again.</p><p>He glances up at the open front door and whispers in the remaining shreds of his tattered voice," I love you, Daddy."<br/>
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